


Another Story

by orphan_account



Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: Fairy Tales, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-28
Updated: 2008-06-28
Packaged: 2017-10-03 01:45:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A queen betrayed, a princess triumphant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Story

**Author's Note:**

> Written for octopedingenue.

Listen, little ducklings. Quiet, quiet.

In another story, your mother would not be a duck, but a queen among swans and a swan among queens, long of neck and lithe of figure. In another story, you would be her twelve daughters, each fairer than the last, except for the youngest with her black hair and dark, thoughtful eyes, just as you, littlest duckling, are black-feathered and wise.

In this story, the queen had an enemy, a monstrous raven. On the twelfth birthday of her twelfth child, the raven's wings darkened the sky. His servants performed a danse macabre in the streets of the queen's own town. Every citizen who joined in their revelry was transformed, clothed in raven's beak and raven's plumage.

The queen said to the palace's artificer, It is of no moment if the raven captures me. But my daughters must be safe. Where can we hide them?

The artificer smiled his secret smile and said, We shall hide them in the hours of the clock. Even the raven will not think to look for them there.

The queen's twelve daughters fled into the hours of the clock, and their hearts became the tick-tock gears of the clock, and their voices became the chiming bells of the clock. The raven knew they were always near, for he, too, lived by the twelve hours of day, the twelve hours of night. But search as he might, he could not find them.

As for the queen, she stood at the tallest tower of her palace and sang above the eerie notes of the danse macabre. She sang the melodies of the sword-dances popular in her court. The peace-knots of every sword in the country untied themselves, and the swords flew through the air to do battle with the raven's servants. Alas, the raven's servants were beyond numbering, and the queen's voice finally faltered. Then the swords dropped to the ground, lifeless once more. Thus the queen became a prisoner in her own tower.

You are mine to court now, the raven said to the queen. At the twelfth hour of every day and the twelfth hour of every night, I will come to you, and ask for your hand.

Then at the twelfth hour of every day and the twelfth hour of every night, the queen said, I will refuse you. You can have me killed, but you can do nothing to my daughters. And it is through my daughters that the realm will continue.

Eleven of the twelve daughters cried, Mother, Mother, when they saw the raven's shadow at the threshold of their mother's bedroom. But their voices were only the voices of the chiming hours, and the raven did not hear them.

The twelfth daughter was silent. For the twelfth daughter saw the way that the artificer capered and bowed before the conquering raven, and she feared for them all.

Princes and knights from other realms learned of the queen's plight, and came from faraway nations to try their swords and lances against the raven's servants. But the raven forced the queen to sing, and the swords of her own realm turned against her would-be rescuers.

Meanwhile, the raven plied the artificer with promises of jewels and polished cams with which to make splendid automata, tools for his workshop and a princess for his bride, if only, if only. You control the machinery of story, the raven whispered to the artificer. Will you allow my story to stay in abeyance like this, with my shadow barricaded by the queen's door and the princesses forever lost? Tell me where the princesses are, and I will allow you to drink of my blood, and it will give you and your heirs the power of story in the wider world.

In a moment of weakness, the artificer said to the raven, Listen to the voices of the bells, and they will tell you where to find the twelve princesses.

This time, when the raven went to court the queen at midnight, he heard the eleven bells crying, Mother, Mother. In a rage, he stretched his wings and broke all the clocks in the realm. Eleven princesses tumbled back into the palace, holding each others' hands. Reproachfully, they looked at the artificer and said, You shall not have any of us to wife.

No, said the artificer, but you will dance for my pleasure until the raven is defeated twelve times.

Then the twelfth princess stepped out of the shards of time and said, I will take him for my husband.

Her sisters wept in dismay, but the twelfth princess was adamant.

The day after the twelfth princess gave birth to her first child, she fled through the shards of time. For unlike her sisters, she had willingly left the clock's concealing hour; and unlike her sisters, she knew her way back. She penned a story: a story of a prince and a raven, a story of a broken knight. She penned a story to tell the world how to defeat the raven. And because she was the artificer's wife, her story would come true.

You know the rest of that story, little ducklings, how your mother and her knight was part of the twelfth defeat.

And I, little ducklings? What was my part?

I am the prince who could not save you in any incarnation. For the truth is, queens among swans and swans among queens have this in common: they save themselves. And sometimes they do not look like swans. Sometimes they look like clumsy girls with gallant hearts, or dancing princesses dressed in white, or ducks who love broken knights.

Sometimes, little ducklings, they look like you.


End file.
